


The Pebble

by Rhiw



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Naruto
Genre: Angst, BAMF!Pebble, Comfort, Gen, Hurt, The One where the Pebble is the real Main Character, crackfic, series of connected one-shots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:49:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhiw/pseuds/Rhiw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It began, in the way that all truly great twists of fates do, with something small.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something Small

It began, in the way that all truly great twists of fates do, with something small.

In this case, a slate grey pebble that sat quite contently (well, as contently as an inanimate object can be) along the gravel road that lead to the gates of the hidden shinobi village Konohagakure, arguably the greatest such village in existence. It was small, barely the size of a man's thumbnail and oblong, all smooth edges and slick to the touch. Once, the pebble's grey color had been stained almost brown by a large smear that covered it almost entirely. But several seasons exposed to the weather had long stripped it of the ugly color and returned it to its natural drab state. Hundreds of people had walked by – and over – it without casting it so much as a second glance.

However, this time was different and the small rock found itself grabbed by slightly sticky hands from its resting spot. Not that the overly bored nine year old would ever know it, but the moment that Ibu Kenji picked up the small rock in an effort to annoy his sister would change the fate of two worlds.

Despite the fact that the pebble was beyond ordinary looking, it was anything but. The pebble had traveled longer and further than most any human being alive and had been present at events that decided the fates of millions. There was no way that Kenji could have known this of course, so it seemed perfectly natural to him to pelt the small thing at his older sister's head when his father had turned to speak to their Shinobi escorts.

Shinobi are shinobi, however, and a gloved hand reached out and caught the streaking thing before it would have made impact with the side of his sister's head. The sister, Madoka (which Kenji thought was a rather appropriate name since his sister was rather… _round_ and always spelled it with the Kanji to try and imply she was fat) caught enough of the movement to whirl around and stick her tongue out at him.

Kenji pouted as the shinobi tossed the pebble back to him but when the tall, scarred man rose an eyebrow in question, the preteen had enough grace too look slightly ashamed at his own actions. The nine year old spent the next few miles rolling the pebble between his palms.

 _This_ , the pebble would have thought if it could have, _is very familiar._

Another boy, far away and long ago, used to roll it in a similar manner. For a moment the little rock was swept away in memories as it slowly grew hotter and hotter with each role until the Kenji finally stopped rolling it all together, staring down at the warm rock in mild surprise before sticking it into his pocket.

The pebble would lay there, forgotten for another few months before Kenji had stumbled upon the old pair of shorts in the back of his closet and pull them on with little concern for their cleanliness. Somewhere amongst the full day of tag and wrestling, the little pebble found its freedom, rolling down the neatly cobbled streets of Konoha until the small hill it found itself on came to an abrupt end.

The pebble was in a small pedestrian only square, lined by tall trees and paved with flagstones. People walked the area continuously, both Shinobi and not, but the pebble was left alone; secure and hidden from sight in the long grass in which it had fallen amongst.

Here the pebble could easily watch the village life around it. As a warestone, a construction used by both the Light and Dark to observe and collect, it found comfort in the act. So it sat, forgotten amongst the weeds and cataloged everything that happened around it.

Then one afternoon, everything changed. The pebble felt a stirring inside of itself – felt a terrible stretching at the seams. It shook once, twice, then so many times it could no longer count. And then with a terrible burst of heat accompanied by a loud, almost metallic screech, memories came pouring from deep within.

The whole of Konoha shuddered with the little pebble – feeling an explosion of something, not quite chakra but not quite _not_ either. The images that shot from the pebble lit the sky of the village proper, causing civilians to flee and shinobi and kouichi alike to flock to the roof tops, weapons drawn and chakra flaring in defense and panic.

But the images in the sky didn't hurt anyone. They didn't cast some terrible _Genjutsu_ upon Konoha's population or kill anyone who watched it for too long. Nor did anyone use the distraction to invade. Instead, they simply played, showing images of a civilization far removed from their own – far removed from the world it existed on.

It showed the life of one Harold James Potter, from his birth to his very untimely end. But, it is most likely best to begin at the beginning, like the pebble did.

With that terrible, fateful night…


	2. The Pebble's Boy

The first time the pebble met the boy, his boy, it was a beautiful fall day. It was a memorable memory, but it was not the first.

No, the first memory belonged to quiet man.

The pebble knew nothing about the man other then that he was its creator. It supposed that it loved the man, as much as a semi-sentient pebble could. It wasn't true love – because the pebble had never experienced such a thing. It was more of a filial thing, imposed onto it when its duty was imprinted onto it had been a human – or any being of flesh and bone, really – it would have realized that the man who made him was something else even among his own kind. But as it was, the pebble only had the memory of the quiet man and his orders.

The pebble felt itself shake, quiver ever so slightly the face of its creator lit up the clear, cloudless skies.

" _Watch, my little eyes,"_ The quiet man had said, and his voice echoed like on a loud speaker, making the shinobi and kouichi stiffen and tense even further. _"And tell me all that happens here."_

The view shifted, rocked back and forward as he was carried and placed ever so carefully on the corner of a low, lengthy stone wall. From its perch it could see a beautiful house, old and magnificent and of a design that was unlike any that this world had seen.

And for a long time, that's all that was shown. An hour passed; then two and then three. By the fourth hour an emergency meeting had been called and closed out, absentee shinobi recalled, gates closed, curfews enforced and ANBU and regular forces placed on high alert. For all intense in purposes, Konoha had been shut down.

And yet, by the time the eighth hour had arrived, no harm had come to the city and the image had yet to change. The little pebble had been found to be the source of the images by then, but the shinobi found it hot to touch with the bare hand and once appropriate measures had been taken to protect the brave ANBU who attempted to move it was stunned to find it had seemingly become a part of the natural bedrock. This was a clear impossibility, for as discussed before, the little pebble was a soft blue-grey and the stone earth of Konoha a brilliant red.

By the next morning civilians were cautiously making there way about town under the ever watchful eye of their shinobi keepers, eyes lifting every other step to glance wearily at the sky above them. It went on like this for days before the image showed anything other then the slowly changing trees around the strangely built house. The pebble knew what was coming before it happened and felt itself perk up slightly – even it was beginning to get bored with the view.

And it had missed its boy.

The city heard the couple before they saw them and though the scene was originally in another language, one that did not exist here, the language the people of Konoha heard was their own _Nihongo_. Because that was one of the pebble's jobs. Just as it was made to watch, it was made to show as well. And how could he show if they could not understand?

The deep, joking baritone of a male and the slight, distinctly un-amused tenor of a female. And of course the short chirps and squeaks of a child.

A boy child.

The pebble's boy.

The trio stepped into the pebble's line of sight. The man was laughing, gesturing widely towards the house before them. His hair was wild and black, crazed bangs pushed backwards at an awkward angle by a pair of oversized glasses that were resting atop his head. The woman shook her head with a sigh, running one hand through brilliantly red hair and momentarily dislodging a strand from a wet, gooey mouth before a sticky hand shoved it back in.

Their appearance once again brought Konoha to a panicked standstill.

" _See! I told you, perfect."_

"… _James…this place is completely run down."_

" _All the better, Lil! We'll fix it up and make us our own!"_

James and Lily Potter. The pebble knew their names instinctively, for it was them it had been created to watch. Lily turned away from the man and the house, shifting the bundle in her arms and – the pebble shivered in remembrance, this was the first time it had seen…

The baby was as beautiful as it had remembered; that small, cherub-like face. Full cheeks, flushed with the autumn air and exertion, a small button nose and brilliant green eyes so large they seemed to swallow all other features.

" _James, I mean, is this going to be_ enough _for us?"_

The look on James' face was a mix of anxiety, determination and unrivaled _fear_. But Lily was facing away and couldn't see it, though the pebble – and thus Konoha – could. It was the look of a desperate man in far too deep.

It was a look that many in Konoha were far too familiar with.

James stepped forward, wrapping the woman and the baby into a comforting embrace. When the red head turned to face him, the look had been replaced with one of cheerful confidence.

" _Everything's going to be fine, sweetheart."_ He brushed a soft kiss across the baby's forehead. He turned them so they were facing the house, backs to the voyeuristic pebble. _"Everything's going to be fine. Besides, you did say you wanted to live in the country one day."_

" _How did we end up like this?"_ There were tears in the woman's voice, _"I just can't believe it. It wasn't supposed to be like this!"_

" _Lily-"_

" _No, James. I'm sorry, but I can't just-! The Darkest Lord in four decades is hunting our baby and all you can do is joke!"_

" _You think I – this isn't a joke to me! Do you think Sirius, or Peter – who is putting himself in fucking harms way for us if you recall – think it's a joke? I'd never let anything happen to you or Harry! How can you even -"_

The babe in question took the moment to let out an indignant squawk at how tightly the red head had been holding him. The tension between the two dissipated almost as if it had never been there as they laughed at Harry's attics.

" _I'm sorry, Jamie."_ Lily titled her head back to give the tall man a brushing kiss across his jawline. _"I know you don't. I'm just scared. He's killed so many and…you know, it's alright."_ She shifted baby higher up, _"I'm going to go inside and look around, start making a list of what needs to be done."_

Lily crossed the cobbled path with the air of a woman with purpose, eying the overgrown flower bed and shotty repair jobs that would have to be fixed. From his spot, James watched her with a crooked smile of amusement.

She paused at the doorway, turning to glance back at him, Harry chewing away happily on her brilliant auburn hair. _"This is going to work."_

" _This is going to work."_ James repeated, far more firmly then she had. Lily gave him a bright smile before disappearing inside. The smile disappeared almost as quickly, replaced with a look of dark dread, fully visible to the pebble as he turned around to stare at the path leading away from the house. _"It has to."_

James stared for a few more moments and then turned, disappearing inside.

* * *

During the next two months life fell into a pattern for Konoha. Life went on as normally as it could with the constant images in the sky above. Much to the Hokage's frustration, nothing seemed to work against them. They couldn't be stopped or even hidden nor muted. The attempts where humorous and the pebble would have laughed if it could have and told them that the power that made him was beyond their understanding.

The only choice the hidden village had was to try and function as normally as possible.

Shinobi were once again dispatched – though in far slimmer numbers. Most where kept inside the city walls. Though an invasion wasn't quite as feared as in the beginning, many still feared that even if the images weren't caused by another village, one may still take advantage of it. The many civilian tourists that were politely turned away at the gates and the foreign spies (not so politely turned away) only furthered paranoia.

But still, life tried to go on. Civilians went about their everyday activities; markets were held, children went to school and genin did excessive numbers of low level missions to keep in them busy.

All while watching the family in the sky.

They watched as they fixed up the house, the little baby rolling around happily on a blanket in the warm sunshine. They watched as the couple fought and made up (a very interesting memory involving a shovel, a disgruntled wife with freakishly good aim and an impressive head injury). And even, to the chagrin of every mother in Konoha and the glee of many an adolescent boy, make love under the wide branches of an ancient oak.

They watched as little Harry took his first steps – and the whole of Konoha held their breath as he took that first, stumbling hobble towards his stunned father.

It was a strange thing to see, the pebble thought, to watch a whole town grow attached to something long since dead.

Friends came to visit, a dark haired man and two brunettes, each begging with ridiculous faces for Harry to speak or walk or do anything other then sit and slobber on them.

" _Come on, buddy! Come on! Say my name! Say Uncle Siri!"_ The baby in question just smiled obliviously up at the slightly desperate man.

" _Sirius he isn't even a year old yet."_ The tall, scared brunette said with a roll of his eyes.

" _Hey, he's our little pronglet. He's a genius. Right, Peter?"_ The chubby brunette nodded with a shake of his head and crooked smile. _"See, Pete believes. Say my name. Say it, Siiiii-rrrrrr-iiiii."_

" _Please,"_ James huffed as he came around the corner, weighed down by a stack of boxes, _"If he say's anything it's gonna be my name. Now get off your asses and help me carrying these in."_

The two of the three did, Peter staying behind to look after Harry. The small fat man had the strangest look on his face as he looked over the babe, a finger outlining his features, another brushing gently through short hair. Harry cooed up at him, all but purring under his ministrations.

" _You're a good friend, Peer."_ James as he made his way down the porch stairs. _"I can never make it up to you, what you're doing for me. Don't think I don't know how much danger you've put yourself in, being our secretkeeper."_ Peter gave a small smile as he watched the bespectacled man scoop up his giggling son. James placed a hand on his shoulder, a serious look on his face. _"I – we, Lil and I – don't deserve you. Really."_

The brunette's words were flustered. _"I-I'm sorry I can't stay for lunch. I…have another appointment."_

James frowned, confused for a moment before giving the short man a hearty pat. _"No problem, be careful, yeah?"_

And when Peter turned away and made his way down the path, the look on his face was one of fierce self hatred. It was then that most of Konoha figured out what the pebble had already known.

Then _that_ night came.

* * *

It was pure fate that earlier that day the pebble had been knocked from its perch by a precariously balanced grocery bag. For most of the day Konoha had nothing to look at but the image of small bugs slowly eating through decaying leaves. But then its boy had found him.

The grass and leaves had shivered and shook and then it found itself in the hands of baby Harry. The sunlight framed the little boy's features, making him look stunningly beautiful.

" _See!"_ The baby squealed happily, shaking the pebble too and fro. For the rest of the day, the pebble had been kept close to the baby, overlooked by the pair of terrified/anxious/frightened parents.

For a while the people of Konoha were greeted to the inside of the Potter family home, something which had never been shown before. They watched as James paced about, nervously rereading the same letter over and over again. Watched as Lily scrubbed the same plate repeatedly, murmuring the words _"Poor Neville, that poor, poor little boy"_ over and over again.

Even baby Harry seemed to have picked up on the mood, fiddling quietly with the pebble in his playpen.

And they came.

The pebble's vision was filled with a segmented view of Lily's smiling face, seen so strangely between the small little fingers holding it, as she quieted and hushed the fussy Harry, petting him lovingly as she lowered him into his crib. There was a shrill shriek and then James' desperate bellow from below. And then silence. From where she stood Lily frantically lifted Harry into her arms, blanket, pebble and all and shoved into the small space under the crib.

" _Quiet, darling."_

There was the sound of pounding feet on the stairs.

" _Be strong for mommy."_

There was a loud bang and Harry erupted into shrieks as his bedroom door was blown off its hinges. From where it been dropped on the floor, the pebble could see both the reddening face of the baby and the terrible man who had entered the room.

" _Hello, Lillian."_

" _No! You can't have him!"_ The red head backed until her legs shielded the shrieking baby from view. The terrible man raised his wand, a harsh smile twisting his beautiful face into something sinister and horrible. _"Not Harry!"_

" _Yes,"_ The man hissed, sounding more reptilian then human. _"Harry."_

There was a flash of green light and then Lily hit the ground with a harsh thud. The shock of it silenced Harry but it was too late – though the pebble knew there had never really been a chance in the first place – and the terrible man reached beneath he crib, one long fingered hand ripping the boy cruelly out from his hiding place by the ankle.

The baby slid awkwardly on the wood floor, howling in terror as the man pointed his wand down at him once more.

" _Goodbye, Harry Potter."_

The flash of green was so bright this time that it blinded the horrified crowds that had gathered to watch the killings in morbid fascination.

And then there was nothing, the images in the sky fading to black as the pebble found itself sputtering into a drained silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My poor little Pebble.


	3. The Ramen Man

Ramen Ichiraku was pretty quiet at the moment; it was far too early for the lunch crowd to be arriving. The heavy set chef worked quietly as he prepared his noodles and tried not to think of the family in the sky. Why did the images have to come back? Why was an already hurt village being forced to watch something even more painful? What, Teuchi mused, had Konoha done to make the gods so angry?

It seemed as a whole the village had agreed to pretend the events had never happened. For the most part, they tried to go on with its life after the night of the murders. The scenes haunted them, though. Sent children into their parent's beds at night and somehow managed to fill the village with a sense of violation that while similar to the Kyūbi attack was at the same time very different.

The demonic attack had been horrifyingly destructive, had filled the villagers with the knowledge that despite their great walls and ample military strength – they were nothing compared to the rage of ancient gods. That feeling, while terrible, was not what had been left behind by that night. No, instead it seemed to Teuchi that it was a feeling of home invasion. Of walking into your kitchen in your pajamas fancying a cup of tea and finding an unknown robber already enjoying your home's hospitality. The subtle realization that something quite dreadful had made its way into the safest place one could imagine and settled there, all without your knowledge.

If anyone missed the cheery family with their odd abilities (Lord, hadn't Ayame been after him for months to get her a talking tea kettle!) or the smiling little boy, no one spoke of it. The pebble was still being watched, day and night, by the masked men and women who flanked it like silent statues, but still no one knew what the round rock was.

Teuchi had been content to ignore it. He was good at ignoring things. And just when the village had truly come to believe that the odd phenomena was over – that they should just move on with their lives and ignore it (the village was very good at ignoring little things that contained accumulated misery, after all) the images came back.

It was cold in Konoha, the middle of its very short winter. Not the kind of cold that other countries had and to be fair, it wasn't even truly that cold. Not the biting cold that Teuchi remembered from his childhood home. But considering the other nine months of the year existed in an almost constant temperate temperature, to those in the village it was freezing.

It had begun yesterday, while the sun had set evening sky into a brilliant cinnamon, there had been another pulse of not-chakra that had sent his shinobi customers on their feet within seconds. And then the image was there once more.

For the first few hours, the image was nothing but darkness. And then, slowly, the piercing black lightened until it was simply grey and the outlines of shapes could be seen. The strange zigzag pattern of upside down stairs – the underside of a stairwell. A series of stacked cardboard boxes. The round curve of a naked bulb. A small cot, large in the tiny space, and an even smaller lump laying on it.

The spell had been cast across the village once more, and all of Konoha couldn't help but watch. Schools were closed – both civilian and the Academy – and bundled up children were sent to their parents under the protective eyes of Genin and Chūnin alike. Ayame herself had been escorted to him at the shop by a blushing Genin, despite the fact that she was more than old enough to walk herself. Business owners took a loss and closed their shop, content with getting home to be with their families before anything else could happen. But Teuchi stayed open.

Because in his mind the fear was stupid; this had happened before and people still needed to eat.

It was by the fifth hour that life came to the sky. A high pitched ringing echoed across Konoha, bouncing off of the tall building and alleyways until it became almost painfully loud. The little bundle shifted and moved and suddenly the room in the sky was filled with the low grey of morning light. The bundle turned out to be a bleary looking little boy, who was most likely three or four but seeming so much younger then that due to the oversized, adult hoodie he'd been sleeping in.

He looked so much like James and the baby, with black hair and emerald eyes that blinked owlishly in his sleep, that it didn't take long for those watching to realize that the baby must have somehow survived that terrible night. Teuchi felt a great relief, even as he served a shaking foreigner his meal, for he could still remember when Ayame had been that small and helpless and the thought of the baby they'd watched for months violent death had haunted him, not matter how much he refused to admit it.

As they watched, a thin quilt was thrown off the boy's bed and he stood, revealing two narrow naked legs that disappeared into two thread bare socks. A pale hand reached for them, looking for all the world like a giant was reaching down towards the village itself, and then all they could see was the inside of a palm.

They were set down a moment later and now the trilling sound was so loud that Ayame had her hands pressed against her ears next to him. They were in a well-organized kitchen, its colors muted by the morning grey. There was the sound of screeching as the boy – Harry – brought a chair over to the adjacent wall, where the good awful trilling noise was coming from.

Tiny hands fumbled with the large receiver of a telephone before pressing it to his ear.

" _Dursely wesidence."_ His voice was beautiful, high pitch and slurred in the way that only really young children's voices ever managed. The boy's breath formed little white puffs in the air and it was clear even from his position behind the bar that the child was shivering.

It was faint and sounded very far away, but nonetheless the high-pitched, deeply accented voice on the other side of the line could be heard. " _Have you been good, boy?"_

" _Yes, Aunt. I didn't touched nothing."_

" _See that you don't. If we come back from holiday and find one thing out of place I'll have your Uncle tan your hide, you understand?"_

There was a flash of terror across Harry's face, green eyes widening even as the small hands gripped the telephone tighter. _"I didn't touch anything, I pwomise!"_

" _We'll see. You haven't even touched the heater? I won't be paying for any extravagant bills, you hear?"_

" _Yes, Aunt."_

" _Good. Now get back in your cupboard – and stay away from the windows."_

" _Yes, Aunt."_ The little boy bit his lip, looking incredibly unsure of himself, then, " _Um, Aunt?"_

" _What is it?"_

" _Um, Mwerry Chirstmas."_

There was a long silence on the other end then a sharp click. Harry's shoulder's drooped as he fumbled to put the receiver back in place. As they watched he hopped down from the chair and made his way over to a large fridge. The inside of it had been packed with food but the little boy had only pulled out a small block of cheese and some butter. That, alone with a piece of bread, was apparently Harry's breakfast.

Afterwards, the child had retreated back to that dark little cubby hole and the whole of Konoha watched as they were set once more on a high shelf, next to half broken toys, as he readjusted himself under his thin blankets and reached up, pulling a shoe string that was attached to the naked light fixture. Seconds later, the room had been cast once more into darkness and only the heavy breathing of a child asleep and the occasional cough broke the silence.

The entire thing filled Teuchi with a kind of fury. He loved being a father with every inch of his being. Caring for his child was one of the only things in his life that had ever made him feel complete. The thought of anyone treating his own child, any child...the child of those merry, happy, pitiful people in the sky in such a way made him ache. The chef slammed the dough in his hands down a little bit more forcefully then necessary. He didn't know what this 'Christmas' was, but it was obviously some sort of holiday. To think of that poor little boy in that dark place with only cold cheese and butter to eat, made him want to break something.

Who could do that to a child?

Leave him to freeze like that?

The sound of a stool being pulled away for the counter caught his attention and Teuchi frowned in confusion as he scanned his bar line and found it empty. Then, a flash of golden hair as a far too familiar child managed to climb up and balance himself.

It was _that boy._

Teuchi had been in Konoha for less than a year when the Kyūbi had attacked. He'd lost his wife and unborn son that night. The blonde container had watched his store before, but always from a far and he'd never had the balls to actually come this close before.

"'Scue me." A tiny voice said and Teuchi forced his hands away from the sheering knife in his hands before looking over. The little blonde flinched slightly under the weight of his glare, biting his lip before a tiny hand held out a silver coin that was almost too large for it. "Can I have some ramen. Um, please?"

Teuchi recoiled. He had no urge to feed the brat. He was about to open his mouth to tell him so, when the boy shivered almost violently. He was only wearing a thin t-shirt and shorts, more than inappropriate given the current weather.

_Maybe the little demon will freeze to death._

The thought caught him completely and utterly off guard and Teuchi froze. Without his consent, his mind drew parallels between that poor, cold little boy in the sky and the equally cold little one sitting at his bar and for the first time, Teuchi actually _looked_ at the demon container. Brown eyes swept over a thin frame, clad in ugly, stained clothing that was booth too thin and the too often patched, took in the hesitant blue eyes, the weary pitch of chapped lips and…and suddenly Teuchi just felt tired and guilty and _old_ , all at once.

_Who would do that to a child, indeed?_

"That should be enough for a bowl or two. Some tea, as well." Teuchi found himself saying, despite the fact that the little silver coin would only buy a house small. "Would you like that?"

The blonde stared up at him with such bitter hope that the chef felt his breath catch slightly. "R-Really?"

"Yeah. What kind of ramen would you like?"

"I dunno…I've never had it before."

"Ah. Well." He leaned on the counter, "You'll just have try a little bit of everything, then, won't you?"

The smile he was rewarded with could have rivaled the sun.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always was very fond of Teuchi and Ayame. Takes courage to swim against the tide and all that.


	4. The Dog Woman

The scene that played over Konoha was a usual one. Harry, now six, was sitting alone at the school playground and trying to keep away from his delinquent cousin and his friends. The maltreatment of Harold Potter had become the number one topic in the village over the years, spoken of with words of harsh anger and wilting frustration at their inability to change the green eyed boy's fate. From where she lounged on one of the benches that lined the playground, Inuzuka Tsume compared the sight above and below – of her own children running around and of lonely Harry in the sky – and found herself incredibly irritated.

It seemed that she had also fallen into the trap that was Harry Potter. Tsume supposed it only made sense. After years of watching Harry grow from a tiny baby into the boy he was now, it figured the villagers (and Tsume) had no choice but be invested in his life. And she was a mother, a loving one, and her own boy was the same age Harry was now.

The scenes in the sky were not always there, not like it had been when the boy's parents were alive, but what was shown was so damn depressing. Like the one now. Harry stood in the corner of the playground, looking so very pathetic and tiny in his gigantic clothing and thrice tapped glasses. Green eyes, narrowed and agitated, traced his cousin's movements across the schoolyard with all the concentration of a cornered animal.

How was it even statistically possible that every adult in Harry Potter's life was an utter moron? How did they miss that this little, tiny, pathetic boy was being abused? That he was far shorter and thinner than any other his age. That Harry was being ignored, neglected…slowly killed. The fierce kunoichi let out a sharp 'tch' of displeasure, black eyes narrowing as she glared death at the group of gossiping teachers. Next to her, Kuromaru let out a low grumble in response to the spike in her scent and Tsume let her hand rest heavy over top an oversized head.

She let her eyes drift to where her son, Kiba, was playing happily with his cousins, but slowly, as if unable to help herself, Tsume found her eyes drawn back up to the scene above her and felt her breath catch. Harry was no longer watching his cousin; instead his entire attention was focused on the sight of a group of children playing some sort of game involving a ball and a painted square that was quartered. The look on his face was incredible. It was…it was…devastation. Utter devastation and a longing so profound it _hurt_ to see.

Tsume swallowed suddenly around a tight throat, blinking away tears that had gathered at the display, and tightened her grip on the white fur beneath her hand. As a shinobi village, she'd seen that look before, but never on a child so young before. Sorrel eyes dropped, unable to look any more, and instinctively sought out the tiny form of her own boy. The relief Tsume felt when she saw her son's form was so complete, it left her slightly breathless.

"Kiba!" She shouted out gruffly, leaning forward and gesturing him over. The young Inuzuka looked at her curiously but obeyed. Tsume instantly tugged him into a sharp embrace when he stepped within reach, her arms wrapping around the little frame almost twice, burrowing her face into his messy hair. Kiba smelled of dirt and dog and her own muted scent, and someone else, the barely there smell of her long gone husband, dead before he ever met his youngest. She could do nothing to help the poor little boy in the sky, so she clutched her own closer and closer, determined that her little ones would never know what it felt to be unwanted.

"Mama?" Kiba quipped, a tiny fist entangling in her chūnin vest, voice wobbling slightly as he instinctively picked up on her distress. "Mama?"

"Shush, baby." Tsume managed after a moment, pulling herself away from her son far enough to press a kiss on his muddy forehead. "You know Mama loves you, right?"

There was a giggle. "Yeah, Mama! I love Mama, too!"

"Alright." The older Inuzuka gave him a broad smile, ruffling his hair, before glancing up to see if anyone had seen her moment of weakness – and found her breath stolen for a second time. The Uzumaki brat, _the_ _Kyūbi,_ was staring at her from across the playground. It was not the sight of him that struck her, Uzumaki was a common sight around the village. Even at the playgrounds, though he usually just swung by himself. Easy enough to ignore.

But now…now the jinchūriki was staring at her with the exact expression that Tsume had just seen on Harry's face. It was just as broken and hurt, just as needy and desperate. And all of it was focused on Kiba. Tsume tightened her grip on her boy, just in case the blonde tried something, and suddenly those sky blue eyes shuttered.

 _It not Kiba_ , the kunoichi felt her breath catch, _it's me. That look's for me, for me…holding Kiba._

The tightness in her throat was back, a deep hollowing in her chest that bottomed painfully out into Tsume's stomach. Uzumaki – the jinchūriki – was looking at her like he wanted nothing more than to be Kiba. To be in her arms.

In a mother's arms.

The realization that the boy could feel such things, that he could feel anything - that maybe aside that terrible beast inside him was a desperately lonely six year old - struck the kunoichi with enough force that she physically jerked, eyes wide in alarm. Uzumaki jerked as well, eyes terrified with the knowledge he'd been caught staring and fled into a nearby back alleyway. Tsume stared after him, pale and shaking with the force of her new found awareness.

"Mama?" Kiba whispered, dark eyes wide in alarm at the look on his mother's face. "Did the bad boy hurt you?"

Tsume's eyes flashed suddenly, her grip tightening on her son's shoulders until they were a shy short of painful. Kiba froze, experience keeping him still, face attentive as he observed her suddenly fierce expression, searching for anything that might denote he was in trouble. But he seemed to understand quick enough that her anger was not at him.

"He's not a bad boy, Kiba."

"But teacher says he's a bad boy."

"Don't believe everything everyone tells ya, kid."

The six year old seemed to consider this for a moment, looking suddenly so much like his father that Tsume chuckled, despite the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that seemed to be robbing her the ability to think of much else then the little blonde

"Does that mean I can play with him?"

The Inuzuka matriarch blinked at her son owl-eyed. "I…yes. Do you want to?"

"He has good games. He really isn't bad?"

"No, he's..." Tsume's voice faded off, staring at the spot Uzumaki had fled, voice soft with confusion. "He's just a little boy, just like you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need some juice. Who do you want to see profiled affected by the Pebble next?


	5. The Red Eyed Boy

There were some truths that Itachi Uchiha knew were unchangeable. His name, for one, and his responsibilities not only as clan heir but as the clan's foremost shinobi. He knew that he was considered a genius – a savant, if Itachi was feeling unkind, with all the knowledge that made a formable shinobi and none of the emotional intelligence to make him a decent _person_ – but given his trade, the second seemed far less important.

He knew that he was the youngest chūnin in Konoha's history (peacetime history, at least), and he knew that he was being groomed for ANBU. He knew a hundred and eight ways to stop a man's heartbeat in less than a handful of seconds and he knew what it was to watch the life-light bleed from someone's eyes. He knew that he was an elder brother and that he loved Sasuke in a manner that – until his birth – Itachi had not known he was capable of. He also knew that to live in Konoha was to know of Harry Potter, of his life and the cruel fate he'd been dealt, and that to step out of his home or open his window meant to be a voyeur of it, however unwillingly.

This particular burden was unique to his village and one that drew crowds of gapping tourists, that would pay absorbent prices to watch the strange world in the sky as shop and inn-keepers alike grew fat and complacent on their willing coin. They were gathered around even now, even with the sky silent, eager and wanting, like some sort of tasteless human embodiment of a piranha, despite the deary weather. Itachi ignored their disappointed murmurings as he made his way home, Sasuke a dead weight in his arms, sound asleep despite the rain that fell heavily around them, and even the rumble of thunder was not enough to wake him. His faith in his brother was complete, ultimate in the way it could only be with younger siblings, as if he knew as sure as he knew how to breathe that Itachi would protect him.

Itachi was both awed and strangely wounded by this trust, unsure how such a thing - such a delicate, precious thing - could be placed in his hands despite the fact that he was simply a tool, a killing machine.

Itachi paused in his walk, tilting his umbrella as he glanced up at the sky as it _shifted_. There was no other way to describe it, the way the skies above Konoha would shimmer shortly before the familiar plains of Harry Potter's would face greet them. Today was no different and the grey, cloudy sky proved a stunning background as Harry came into focus, sniffling slightly as he wiped his nose with his sleeve, green eyes livid with a deep seeded envy and wantonness so strong it was nearly lustful, as he watched his fat, spoiled cousin open brightly wrapped present after present after present. The mysterious boy who lived in the sky was only slightly more well-known than the abhorrence of a family he lived with, and shinobi and civilian alike could be heard muttering their disapproval throughout various moments of the day.

'The Dursley's' had become the most disliked family in Fire country, for all that their presence was an unnamed anomaly that no amount of chakra technique could dissipate. Harry had grown large, growing along with but disproportionate to the years that the images had played in their sky. They were irregular, and undependable, erratic and unpredictable; sometimes the village would go days with nothing, then weeks longer with the never ending scenery from young Harry's life. It went on like this for nearly three years, but Harry was clearly five or six years older than when they'd begun this journey with him despite this.

He was closer to Itachi's age now, nine or ten, but he was rail thin and sallow, his skin burnt dark by hours of tedious genin-like yard work and his form layered with wiry muscle. Despite this, the boy was clearly malnourished and Itachi wondered at the sheer lack of care the strange world showed around the young boy. It seemed as if no one noticed the world of neglect that Harry lived in and those that did were shamefully quiet about it.

There was a cruelness to Harry's world that Itachi, respected and revered scion, doting and loving elder brother, could simply not understand. How could Harry's own clan treat him with such coldness? How could the other adults in his life – the neighbors of his orderly village, the teachers at his school, simply stand by and _allow_ it?

There was a shuffle next to him, the barest of feet moving on cobblestone, and Itachi glanced down, lips tugging down at the sight that greeted him. It seemed that the image in the sky had brought more than one watcher to the streets, but this one – this one was _different._ Famous, in his own way, perhaps just as famous as the boy in the sky that Konoha was renowned for, though for an entirely different reason.

The small form – so much smaller than Sasuke's, despite how close they must be in age – was poorly dressed for the weather, with no coat or even shoes to protect him from the howling wind and rain, and for a long moment the Uchiha heir let himself just _look._ Uzumaki Naruto was just as thin and sallow as the figure in the sky, just as tan and layered with the same muscle that came from running and hiding and with just as little fat as Harry Potter had. The small form was drenched, the oversized shirt hanging wetly on him, his equally too large shorts drooping down his legs with the water-weight. The small form was watching the sky with a such an _understanding,_ that Itachi felt his breath catch.

He thought of Sasuke's birthday, just a few weeks passed, and of the piles of gifts – most, undoubtedly, more to win the favor of his finicky father than anything for Sasuke – and of the sheer wonder on his little brother's face as he'd taken the sight in, clad in his finest clothes and fat cheeks red with glee and rightful joy.

Uzumaki's small face bore expression so alien from that memory, one that Itachi was determined would never grace his beloved brother's face. It was scrunched up in a mix of righteous anger and a deep, bone-deep and worn look of understanding, a look that spoke of a shared pain, a shared brotherhood, that was more appropriate on the faces of Itachi's shinobi brethren then on one so young. Tiny fists curled against his side, and as Itachi watched, a small victorious smile stole past his lips and he redirected his attention to the sky, just in time to watch Harry dart out from his hiding place, nicking an oversized plate of cake before disappearing into the small cupboard that served as his room.

Itachi wondered then, just how much the Jinchurki must identify with their young ward in the sky. After all, Harry Potter's life was in many ways very similar to their own village pariah. Itachi cocked his head, mulling over the similarities on his own for a moment, before carefully stepping forward.

The little boy flinched, impossibly blue eyes widening as he took in the armed shinobi standing next to him for the first time. Itachi fought the urge to frown heavier at the slight terror he found there and, after a moment of quiet staring, simply extended the umbrella's reach to cover the drenched child.

After all, Itachi had never considered himself cruel.


End file.
